On the Plain
by Ms-Figg
Summary: Laden with guilt, Hermione has recurring dreams about Severus Snape, dreams she wants to end. As in life, Snape is less than cooperative. PWP Adult Content
1. Recurring Dreams

**On the Plain**

She was here again. In this place again. A featureless desert plain stretched toward the horizon on all sides. Above, angry black clouds rolled over the expanse of sky and the sound of distant thunder could be heard.

She waited for the inevitable wind and rising of sand to obscure her sight, the harbinger of the rest of this recurring dream.

A slight breeze lifted her bushy hair and robes, becoming stronger, the sand rising and swirling about her. There was no sting, no blinding. She could see the familiar shadow through the whirling dust billowing toward her, unaffected by the tempest.

She watched as he approached, a wraith from outer darkness. He returned again and again this way.

Hermione stood facing him, her brown eyes full of remorse.

Snape stopped, his black eyes hard in his sallow face, his lank hair unaffected by the wind, which died down now that he had appeared.

"Again?" he asked her, bitterness in his voice.

"Yes, again," Hermione answered him. "I don't do this on purpose."

"You lie. It is on purpose. Only purpose could draw me here in this manner," he hissed at her.

"I'm sorry."

"You're not. You want absolution for letting me die."

Hermione stared at him.

"If only—if only you would take what I offer, my most precious—"

"I don't want you. Save it for Weasley."

"Take me. Take me so we can both be free of this."

"Not even in your dreams. Do you think your body can undo my loss? Do you think it can make a difference? You let me die."

"Please. I can't take this—this haunting. If the dream ends differently—perhaps—perhaps this will all stop."

Snape's face contorted.

"Suppose I want you to suffer?"

"Don't. Please—"

Hermione stepped closer to the wizard, who whipped his robes about himself as if she would come into contact and contaminate him.

"Can't you let the dead rest?"

"The deserving dead—yes. But not you. You should have lived."

"You did nothing."

"I—I didn't know. Please, let me—let me—"

"Martyr yourself? Now, you're willing to spill a bit of blood for me. Too little, too late, Hermione. Besides, this is all a dream. It is meaningless."

"Not to me," Hermione said, pleading with the wizard. "If—if I give myself over to you—even like this—I'll be able to let you go."

Snape sneered at her.

"If you gave yourself over to me—you could never let me go. I would sink into your psyche and remain there."

"You've already taken it over."

"No."

Snape turned away from her and began to walk, the sands rising again.

"Come back!" Hermione cried, running after him, knowing it was pointless. He would fade back into oblivion and she would once again awaken, lying beside her guilt. Her constant guilt.

Until the next dream.

* * *

A/N: Writing this was like pulling teeth. I've moved from my home and left it to my children to pay the mortgage and bills. Too many people, too much stress, too much tension. I now have a one bedroom apartment and it's the first time in my life that I've ever lived alone. First it was my parents, then my children's father, then my children. I'm 48 years old and am finally cutting the apron strings. Needless to say, the adjustment is kind of difficult. No babies crying in the night, no grands pulling on me crying, Grandma, can you (fill in the blanks.) No constant babysitting or asking surly kids about money for bills. My muse seems to have stayed at the house. At least it feels as if she has. I wrote this trying to find her. Maybe I'll write more while waiting to start up my other unfinished stories. Thanks for reading.


	2. Taking the Option

**Chapter 2**

Because of her recurring dreams of Snape, her relationship with Ron deteriorated He couldn't understand her continued guilt.

"It wasn't as if you bit him, Hermione. Nagini did. There was nothing any of us could have done. He'd lost too much blood. Besides, we thought he was a bloody Death Eater and murderer. Why would we try to save him?" Ron argued.

"We should have known," Hermione countered. "All he did for us. He protected us so many times, Ron. Remember when he stood up for Harry when the Chamber was open? And how he didn't give Umbridge Veritaserum so she could question him? And how he sent the Order to the Ministry when Voldemort was after the Prophecy? The signs were all there. We just didn't see them! I didn't see them."

"Hermione, you couldn't possibly have known! You need to forget about Snape. Harry has and I have. It's over! We have to think about ourselves now!"

But it was when Ron discovered that Hermione believed that if she became intimate with Snape in her dreams, the dreams would stop that he really blew his top.

"What? Are you nutters? Shagging Snape even in your dream would be damaging beyond all belief! You could be scarred for life, Hermione! That's insane! That's not a dream! That's a bloody nightmare!" he said, shuddering.

But Hermione wouldn't budge on it and insisted she needed to hang on to her virgin status until she managed to assuage her guilt. Ron couldn't believe it. Even from beyond the grave, that dungeon bat Snape was cock-blocking just as surely as if he were still stalking the corridors of Hogwarts looking for copulating students.

"You need help, Hermione," he muttered. "Therapy, and lots of it."

After graduating from Hogwarts with the highest marks the school had seen in more than fifty years, Hermione did try therapy. Unfortunately, she had to go to a Muggle counselor, who promptly assigned her to a more experienced therapist after listening to her story. The psychiatrist believed Hermione was completely delusional when she talked about wizarding worlds and magic and Severus Snape. He immediately prescribed an anti-psychotic drug.

"This will stop the dreams and your delusions," he told her. "If it doesn't help, we're going to have to try in-patient treatment."

All Hermione wanted was to stop dreaming, so she took the pills.

The dreams stopped, but so did everything else as Hermione zoned out, staring at walls for hours and becoming more and more disconnected to reality. Her work at the Ministry suffered. Finally, she stopped taking the drugs.

The dreams returned, with Snape more dismissive and scathing than ever, railing at her to leave him alone and let him be at peace.

She couldn't.

Months and many dreams later, Hermione retired to her bed. She and Ron had finally broken up earlier that day, Ron telling her to come see him when she got Snape out of her system. He couldn't compete with a ghost.

Hermione fell asleep and once again found herself on the familiar plain. But there was something different about it, something wrong, ominous. The featureless plain was there, but the black clouds that rolled above were closer than they'd ever been, and the wind was blowing without lifting the sand. It began to grow darker as Hermione spun, unable to awaken Thunder crashed around her and she screamed at the loudness of it.

Then, a jagged bolt of lightning flew from the distance, forked and heading right for her. Stunned and horrified, she couldn't move as it struck the ground before her and Snape appeared, his robes billowing in the wind, his eyes narrowed as he looked at her.

"I've decided," the wizard said softly, his voice carrying despite the wind and thunder around them. "I've decided to engage you. It is all I can do if I want peace. You have no idea of the risk—"

"Risk? What risk?" Hermione asked him.

"It doesn't matter. But, this is not the proper scenario," Snape replied, and suddenly they were in Hermione's bedroom. She lay in the bed in her nightgown, Snape standing at the end of the bed, looking down at her. It seemed so real, but all Hermione's dreams about him were lucid ones.

"No need to undress, Hermione," Snape said, beginning to unbutton his robes.

* * *

A/N: A little more writing. It came a bit easier today, but I still can't seem to write for my other stories, yet. It's like in new surroundings I need to do something new. But I want my muse back


	3. Carnal Knowledge

Chapter 3

Hermione watched Snape open his robes, revealing a very pale, slender body clad in only briefs. He seemed delicate, a slight outline of his ribs showing beneath his thin chest. Small scars laced his abdomen, which showed some musculature because of his slimness. When he removed his robes completely and let them drop behind him, Hermione saw sparse black hair speckled his arms and legs. He had his wand in his hand, and cast a contraceptive spell on her before letting it drop as well.

"Why did you do that?" Hermione asked him. "This is just a lucid dream. I can't conceive."

"All I need is for you to invade my peace again, this time claiming to carry my spirit-child," he responded with a scowl.

Without ceremony, Snape drew down his briefs, revealing his pale, pink-headed cock. It stood at attention and was surrounded by silken black hair. His balls were darker than his organ, and seemed very large and heavy for such a slightly built man.

Snape grasped Hermione by her ankles and dragged her down the bed until her arse rested on the edge of it.

"Put your hands alongside your head," he ordered.

Her heart pounding, Hermione did as he asked, and Snape leaned over her, using his arms to spread her thighs wide as he gripped her wrists. He let his cock rest on her apex and Hermione felt how heavy it was although it seemed an average size. It was hot, and pulsed against her as Snape stared down at her.

Their eyes met for several moments before Snape reached between their bodies and grasped the base of his cock and drew it down Hermione's core, seeking entry. Hermione gasped at the sensation as the wizard found his mark, fingering her hymen for a moment as if to check if it was intact. Now positioned, he looked down at Hermione.

"Spilled blood for spilled blood," he breathed, thrusting hard and driving through the small stretch of skin that protected her virtue.

Hermione cried out as Snape embedded himself deep inside her body, his eyes hard as he looked down at her. He pulled back slightly, noting the streaks of blood on his organ with some satisfaction. Then, Snape began to move, his strokes slow, deep and unhurried, his eyes never leaving Hermione's face as he fucked her.

He kept up the slow rhythm, only alternating his stroke, angling it right, left and whirling his cock inside her almost luxuriously, hardly showing any reaction to the act, simply watching Hermione.

It was much different for her. He felt—she couldn't express it if she could speak. The way the Professor looked at her, the way he felt inside her—it was the most intimate situation she had ever experienced. He was both hot and cold in his possession. Hermione moaned as Snape twisted his hips, then pressed deep, holding—holding before returning to his easy stroke. He wasn't brutal, but contained, thoroughly in control, making Hermione gasp and moan as if on cue.

Snape fucked Hermione through two slow-rolling orgasms, letting out only a hiss when her heat washed over him. When he finally came, it was with a quiet sigh and slight tremble. As he pulsed, he continued to stare at her. Finally, he withdrew, standing up and cocking his head as he studied her wet thighs.

"Mission accomplished," he said shortly, picking up his robes and wand, then Scourgifying himself. Hermione looked at him with half-lidded eyes, her hands still resting alongside her head as she basked in the afterglow. Hoorah for lucid dreams.

Snape walked around her bed, produced a rose and placed it on her night stand. Hermione's brow furrowed.

"I thought you hated roses," she said to him.

"I do. But most witches don't. It is a symbol that I have forgiven you for your callousness. A war was going on, after all. You are absolved."

Snape pointed his wand at her.

"Now—sleep."

* * *

When Hermione awoke the next morning, she physically felt the aftereffects of her dream sex with Snape. She stretched and looked toward her nightstand.

She sat up in shock.

The red rose Snape had given her in her dream was actually there. Beside it was a folded parchment. As she threw the covers back, she could smell the scent of sex in her bed and on her body. Slowly, she picked up the parchment, opened it and read it.

_Hermione,_

_Suffice it to say that Voldemort wasn't the only wizard with a Horcrux. I wished to be left in peace, but your obsession with my memory had magical side effects that I hadn't expected. You were drawing me into your dreams with your classicly irritating Gryffindor guilt. I risked everything in order to ease your pain and return control to my new life. It is my hope that you will keep both my secret and myself out of your dreams. You are absolved._

_Now, leave me be._

_Severus Snape  
_

Hermione blinked at the parchment before it flared up in her hands. She dropped it, and it burned away to nothing. She sat there, stunned.

He had survived. Severus Snape was alive and well and snarky as ever. She had awakened with a sense of freeness, but now, she was elated. There was no need for guilt anymore. He was alive. She should have known a man like him would have a contingency plan.

Yes, she'd keep Severus Snape's secret . . . and keep it close to her heart.

THE END

* * *

A/N: A very short story. I'm just trying to re-establish muse contact. Thanks for reading. ***


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